Two days. Forty-eight hours. And Rhys still didn't know what he wanted.
He spent day one wandering the palace alone, visiting every room where Elara's memories lingered. The gardens where Valerian had first kissed her. The ballroom where they'd danced in secret. The dungeons where everything had gone wrong.
In each place, he felt the weight of history pressing down.
"You're torturing yourself," Liam said, finding him in the dungeon at midnight.
"I need to understand what I'm choosing between." Rhys touched the cold stone walls. "If I choose Pryce, I'm choosing to forgive the unforgivable. But if I choose freedom, I'm choosing to let someone who loves me—however twisted that love is—cease to exist."
"He's a ghost. He's already dead."
"But he still feels. Still suffers. Is it mercy to end that, or is it just another kind of murder?"
Liam had no answer.
On the final day, Pryce appeared at dawn.
He looked different. More solid than Rhys had ever seen him. Almost alive.
"The Void Lord's magic is concentrating," Pryce explained. "For the final choice, I become as real as possible. So you can feel what eternity with me would actually mean."
He reached out, took Rhys's hand.
It was cold, yes. But solid. Real. Rhys could feel the texture of his skin, the slight tremor in his fingers.
"Tonight at midnight," Pryce said quietly. "That's when you choose. The Void Lord will manifest, witness your decision, and enforce the consequences."
"And if I can't decide?"
"Then the Void Lord chooses for you. And trust me—its choice won't be kind to either of us."